Learning to Fly
by Tamashi.no.Koe
Summary: REWRITTEN. Leader of a forsaken team, Shiori Hane struggles to define and carry out her duty as captain of the Girls' Tennis Team. She finds a wonderful example in Tezuka, but he could break her as likely as make her. And where does Fuji come into this?
1. Looming Clouds

**LEARNING TO FLY**

Ch. 1: _Looming Clouds_

No one had any idea what Coach Ryuuzaki wanted when she called me and Tezuka Kunimitsu of all people to her office during lunch break. Being Captain of the Boys' Tennis Team,_ he_ probably waltzed in there every day, but the contact I had with the coach our clubs supposedly shared was minimal. Unlike his, my team wasn't a nationally acclaimed source of future top professionals and therefore got much less attention. Seishun Gakuen's Girls' Tennis Team was a mistake, a mark on the school's shining name to be hidden away.

I was at the receiving end of many an envious stare when I marched out of the classroom just a pace or two behind Tezuka. Two tennis team captains called upon together to fulfill some glorious duty, walking side by side, regality and authority swilling around them in a near-visible haze… Or so my classmates might have thought as they stared, still clutching bentos and chopsticks. If they would only care to take off their rose-colored glasses, they would see the reality of the situation, and realize that to put Tezuka and me in remotely the same category was only marginally short of blasphemous.

Tezuka, for one, was more aware of this than these outsiders. He strode ahead, only permitting me a view of his back as his longer legs carried him away. A full foot and a half shorter than him, I had to break into a trot to keep up. The silence stretched between us and tautened like steel cables—or was I the only one who felt the tension, staring after his sturdy muscled frame which nevertheless moved with a graceful fluidity and a rhythm in tune with the gentle swaying of his wispy brown hair, while he had yet to even look at me?

Arriving before the coach's door, he didn't wait for me to catch up before knocking and entering. His hand lingered on the doorknob after he'd gone in, and I thought he might be holding the door open for me. Or maybe he was just used to opening doors that way.

We found Coach Ryuuzaki sitting behind her desk, a folded slip of paper in one hand. I was taken aback at the expression she wore; it was the one she put on when briefing the boys' team about and upcoming tournament. For a moment I wondered whether that might be the reason why she'd summoned us captains. This fantasy burst in an instant: the girls' team had never participated in an external tournament, not once in the five years since its establishment.

"You wished to see us, Coach Ryuuzaki?" Tezuka inquired, his tone unpresuming.

The coach grunted an affirmative. "I recently received a letter." She held up the slip of paper. "It's from a certain Coach Sasaki, who claims to train Hyotei's tennis teams."

Curiously, the coach seemed to be mainly speaking to me. But I knew only two things about Hyotei, one being that it was one of Seigaku's more prominent rivals in boys' tennis. I could catch no implication of such a letter. Shooting a glance at Tezuka, I saw nothing more than his impassive face. Apparently, he was neither surprised nor interested by the coach's announcement. Maybe this was a regular occurrence?

"Apparently Hyotei's principal thinks it would be beneficial to both his school and ours if our tennis clubs participated in a joint-school event of some sort." Coach Ryuuzaki grimaced slightly. "Public relations, of course. Typical Hyotei. They've finally wised up to the fact that if they keep going along the same track they've been following, they'll eventually get saddled with the same kind of reputation as Rikkai. Bad news, considering the backgrounds of most of their students. They want to be seen as elite and competitive, but not ruthless. It's not a very favorable trait for businessmen to appear to have."

I nodded slowly with dawning comprehension. The other thing I knew about Hyotei was that concerns had been raised recently over originally healthy competition turning ugly in the prestigious school's tennis teams. Something about a training revolution initiated by its new coach. This Sasaki was probably the 'new coach' in question.

"As to why Hyotei proposed this to Seigaku, I can only guess. Most likely they see us as one of the few schools in this area remotely close to their caliber. And our teams have rubbed shoulders with theirs often enough to be reasonably able to stand each other—theoretically, anyway. Do either of you personally know any Hyotei players?"

Tezuka replied that he was acquainted with the ones he had played matches against, and had through them met some others. I could only answer a stiff, "No, I don't."

"That should simplify matters," Coach Ryuzaki nodded, satisfied. Presumably she was responding to Tezuka's answer, since I couldn't see how my lack of a social network outside Seigaku simplified anything. "Our principal is in full support of the idea and has given us the green light to carry it out."

I nodded again. Accepting Hyotei's proposal no only created an excellent opportunity to propagate the impression of friendliness, but it was also a legitimate means for Seigaku's boys' team to test its strength against a major rival. If the rumors about the high probability of our team reaching the nationals this year were to be believed, it was unsurprising that the school jumped at ever chance to prepare it.

"As of now, the only thing that has been decided is that the event will take place roughly a month later. Otherwise, it is to be almost entirely student-controlled, so the four clubs will have to get together and—"

Wait.

"Excuse me," I interrupted, my voice embarrassingly shrill. "When you say 'the four clubs', do you mean the boys' _and_ the girls' clubs from both Seigaku and—"

Coach Ryuuzaki smiled in amusement and…some other emotion I couldn't quite pin down. If I hadn't known better, I might have suspected she was proud. "Of course I do," she said pleasantly. "Why else do you think you're here?"

Her monkey wrench of a rhetorical question brought the gears in my head clanging to a halt. For a moment, I was literally at a loss for words. "I thought…never mind," I murmured. I couldn't possibly say that I'd only expected to be involved in the planning was a temporary assistant club manager of some sort, or perhaps that she'd wanted to mobilize the girls' club to help out. It hadn't even crossed my mind that my team would be allowed to participate as an actual team. The realization twisted my insides in a mixture of shame and resentment—a complete lack of pride in my team was deplorable, but since when had anyone given me space to cultivate such pride?

By the time I'd finished dwelling on this, Coach Ryuuzaki had long since brushed aside my awkwardness and was already wrapping up her briefing. She made it clear that while both she and Coach Sasaki would be available for consultation should the need arise, but that we students were expected to cope with most complications on our own. This struck me as a suspiciously big leap in our responsibilities, and it must have showed on my face, because she added before dismissing us, "You've both been leaders for a while, not to mention Third Years. You should know how to handle this sort of thing, and if you don't, it's high time you learned."

Which was all very well for Tezuka; he'd been juggling stuff like this and playing management acrobatics since becoming vice-captain last year. I, on the other and, was made Captain right off the bat, and seeing as my club seldom (all right, _never_) took part in anything qualifying as a 'major event', had next to no (all right, actually no) experiences or capabilities in this form of leadership. Or any other, for that matter. Let's not forget that what the school had in mind this time went way beyond internal ranking matches. A joint-school event aimed at showcasing our teams? Cooperating with the elite Hyotei? If Seigaku _wanted_ the thing to be a complete and utter failure, they couldn't have chosen better.

I had just remembered that technically, nobody had chosen, the participation of Seigaku's Girls' Tennis Team had been required and I just happened to be listed as captain, when Tezuka interrupted my thoughts. "It would be efficient if Seigaku could come to an agreement upon its own terms and needs internally before negotiating with Hyotei." This was, I suppose, the closest he could get to offering a suggestion instead of giving an order. Which scored points in my book; my personal opinion was that he probably would be right to give orders under these circumstances.

I did my best to duplicate his detached, business-like tone. "You're right. Should we hold a meeting, then, before contacting Hyotei?"

"Yes." There was a pause. "Ordinarily, captains and vice-captains would attend such a meeting."

I blinked. "Ah." While I hadn't doubted that Tezuka, who was after all a well-respected member of the student society and could therefore afford to be blunt, was capable of subtlety when he wanted to be, I wouldn't have thought he'd use it with me. He was referring to the fact that the Girls' Team didn't have a vice-captain. There had been one at the beginning of the term, but she wasn't anymore. I hadn't replaced her when she'd left the post, and Coach Ryuuzaki hadn't pressured me to. Most likely it was because my club didn't have a functional purpose for a vice-captain. When I thought about this, I usually started wondering whether it had a functional purpose for a captain. Therefore I avoided thinking about it.

"I'll make sure we're adequately represented," I replied coolly, momentarily forgetting that I was supposed to be in awe of him.

If he noticed the brief frostiness, he made no mention of it. Inclining his head in acknowledgement, he said no more until we reached our classroom where Fuji Syusuke met him at the door. "Ne, Tezuka, how did it go? Did she want to talk about—"

Tezuka cut him off with a curt nod before returning his attention to me. "I suggest we hold this meeting as soon as possible. Would you be able to give me an idea of when you and your…team representative will be available by the end of today?"

Team representative? I could barely get my first year members to clean up the courts after practice, and he expected me to rope someone into handling a large-scale project which was sure to involved a lot of work and stress? I nodded firmly. "I'll see you at the end of afternoon practice."

I was such a fraud.

Satisfied, he returned to his seat, bringing Fuji with him. Removed of the immediate need to act serene, my legs almost collapsed under me. Pulling together the last of my composure, I strode swiftly down the corridor and turned a few sharp corners into a small, dark, dead-ended space that led to a little-used broom cupboard. I leaned against the wall, breathing out a long sigh. The sheer magnitude of the responsibility Coach Ryuuzaki had just dumped on me, out of the blue, like a sack of potatoes, was finally sinking in. She was calling upon me to actually do something as Captain of the Girls' Team.

Wasn't this what I'd been hoping for all year? A chance to be more than Captain in name?

But what was I supposed to do? How did you organize a joint-school event? What did a joint-school event even involve? Would someone tell me what needed to be done, or was I supposed to figure things out myself? And who was I supposed to ask to be this 'team representative'?

* * *

For all I learned during afternoon classes, I might as well have skipped them all. When the electrifying bell signaling the end of school rang, I twitched visibly in my seat. My hands fumbled slightly as I changed into the Seigaku Girls' Tennis Team uniform.

As a third year, the classrooms I had my lessons in were all on the third floor, leaving the lower levels to first and second years. This meant many of the younger girls were already gathered at the tennis courts by the time I arrived. As usual, I found them clustered around the ones reserved for the boys' team's usage, leaving our own desolately empty. By this time of year, I was jaded enough to this scenario not to sigh.

Dropping my book bag and tennis racket on a bench, I clapped my hands loudly and yelled, "All right, everyone! Practice began five minutes ago! Ten laps around the courts!"

After a few seconds' awkward delay, my club started to stir itself. All of the more serious players, third years and a few select second years, extracted themselves from the rest and headed for the track circling all the tennis courts. I hung back, yelled some more and got myself sufficiently annoyed to begin glaring at the first and second years lingering near the boys' courts wistfully. In small groups of three or four they eventually tore their eyes from their idols and set off at a reluctant canter.

In my usual start-of-practice funk (it gradually wore off as I reacquainted myself with the futility of being strict), I slipped on sneakers and broke into a run just as three figures in blue and white sped by.

Three members of the closest equivalent my club had of a team jogged ahead of me, their jackets embellished with 'Seigaku' billowing out behind them, white skirts swishing. Akihana Tori from my year, her doubles partner Hyuuga Natsuko, and Yoshizawa Konami, a second year singles player. At the beginning of the year, there had been two more decked out in regulars' outfits, but Makahi and Sayuri had long since lost that privilege.

I fell into step with Konami. She was an effective player, very fond of tennis, who might have been more active in the club had she not been so quiet. Noticing me beside her, she gave me a shy sideways smile that I returned.

"Fifty laps around the courts!" A booming voice from our immediate left made both of us stumble. Scrambling to regain my footing, I barely caught a glint of gold-framed glasses before shooting right past Tezuka. Even as the distance between us grew, I heard him dishing out orders to his club, administering the usual speech about not letting their guards down. Within thirty seconds, the Boys' Tennis Club in its massive entirety was all around me, running like their lives depended on it. With them came the remaining portion of my own club that I'd been unable to glower into submission.

It had happened many times before, each time bringing a pang of helplessness that did not grow any less acute as the days went by. A large part of this was inevitably due to my own expectations—though why I'd expected to be any more successful than the two captains before me, I didn't rightly know.

I came to Seigaku a passion-driven freshman, a fan of tennis of all sorts. Living with an older brother (that was before he left for university) who'd also attended Seigaku and played, I grew up hearing about the school's legendary tennis team—the boys', of course. The girls' team was established the year my brother graduated, and general opinion was that it needed some time to get off the ground. By the time I was due to enroll into middle school, it would be up and rising—or so I thought.

The day I signed up for Seigaku's Girls' Tennis Club and showed up at the courts clutching my racket, full of anticipation, all my hopes came crashing down. My brother had described what he'd seen of its general situation in his last few months at Seigaku, and I could see that very little had changed. A lot of the girls were there out of pure curiosity, and basically had no intention of training seriously. Many of them just wanted an excuse to be near the Boys' Team. That year's captain was a harried doubles player named Shimada who obviously had no idea what she was doing. The training routines loosely copied from the boys' methods were undisciplined and often rather chaotic. We freshmen felt the disadvantage less; we were only there to clean up after the upperclassmen, do basic endurance-building exercises and learn how to grip our rackets. I vaguely remember, though, how lost and confused the second and third year senpais generally seemed.

Year two was better. Captain Yamazawa had obviously come to the same conclusion as the rest of us, and put some effort into licking us into shape. As a second year, I was allowed to actually hit balls on an actual court, and was given the best training Yamazawa knew how to give. Coach Ryuuzaki had been conspicuously absent. The overall result was that the sporadic games I'd played with my brother brought me a much longer way than most of my fellow second years who'd trained under Yamazawa alone. That was when Makahi and I had started training together. She'd attended tennis lessons outside school and was looking for a challenge. I'd just wanted to have fun. We spent a lot of time scuffing up the nearby public courts, back when we still talked to each other.

As my third year at Seigaku commenced, I thought at first that the best was being saved for last. Vice-captain Sayuri from the previous year was all set to be captain, and she was considered more than good enough to help the rest of us along (tennis, she explained, ran in her family).

Disaster struck when Coach Ryuuzaki announced that Yamazawa's chosen successor wasn't Sayuri, but me. Things went downhill thereafter.

So because of one horrifically erroneous decision, I was now captain of a club that barely obeyed me, using courts adjacent to those of an actual team whose captain's competency contrasted so sharply with mine, it drew blood. And I had to endure the knowledge that my girls listened more to him when he wasn't even talking to him than when I screamed myself hoarse.

The captain of the Boys' Team considered me unworthy of my title. I wasn't exactly on speaking terms with him, but this much I knew.

A natural consequence of running in circles around the courts was that I had to pass by Tezuka again. Several times. As Konami and I rounded the corner, I focused entirely on the minute details of my moving body, regulating my breathing and the rhythmic pumping of my arms, steadying my pace and taking care to lift my feet in a correct jogging posture. A few steps short of where he was standing I let myself run on autopilot, meticulously staring straight ahead in a way that clearly said, "I'm not watching you; I don't even know you're there."

But of course I knew, and of course I did watch. If I hadn't been, I wouldn't have caught the tiny frown of disapproval that creased his brow as I passed by.

My heart pounded, and I knew I hadn't been running for long enough to make it thump so hard against my chest. I felt a flash of anguished resentment. Didn't I see the difference between him and me clearly enough without help? Wasn't it enough that I was appropriately ashamed of my inadequacy? Was it strictly necessary that he rub it in? But then again, I was lucky that he chose not to pursue the issue beyond dropping miniscule hints. I should be thankful that he at least didn't express his disapproval verbally in front of everyone, like he often did to his club or team members.

"Ano…"

I almost missed Konami's hesitant half-whisper when she tried to get my attention. "Yeah?"

"Um, could you tell me what Coach Ryuuzaki wanted today during lunch?"

"She told Tezuka and me about a joint-school tennis activity the school wants our clubs to hold with Hyotei Gakuen. The coach apparently expects friendly matches to be involved."

"Really?" Konami sounded as enthusiastic as her reserved nature would let her. "Who's organizing it?"

"The four tennis clubs from Seigaku and Hyotei," I replied vaguely, my mind still on Tezuka.

"Oh. When?"

"I don't know."

"Oh… Who'll be going?"

"I don't know."

Konami flinched. Her pace abruptly slowed and she began to fall behind, murmuring, "Okay. Sorry for bothering you…"

Sighing and mentally kicking myself, I slowed as well until we were running level with each other again. "No, _I'm_ sorry. I'd tell you if I could but I really don't know when it'll be or who's going or…or anything about it, really."

"But Coach Ryuzaki spoke to you," Konami objected timidly, plainly intent on tiptoeing around my mood. "Didn't she tell you…?"

"She didn't tell me a whole lot," I reported wearily. "Apparently she expects us to take care of things on our own. She's too used to Tezuka." _He _could always be counted on to keep on top of things. Like me, he'd had the prospect of hosting a joint-school activity with a reputably snobbish and disagreeable school shoved in his face, but unlike me he'd taken it without batting an eyelid. Ten minutes later he was already planning meetings.

"Tezuka-san is very responsible," Konami agreed. "But I think our club could be too, if we…"

"Maybe. But not like Tezuka. He's so efficient it's like he can see the future and do damage control beforehand," I muttered, half to myself. "I can't be like him."

"I think you could, if you really tried… You're our captain, after all…"

I smiled grimly. "Only because Yamazawa lost her mind during the high school entrance exams," I declared, ignoring Konami's wince. By the end of last year I'd begun to really like my Captain Yamazawa. She'd tried hard for our club, and despite her efforts being largely ineffectual, I'd admired her. When word first got out that she'd chosen me as the next captain instead of Sayuri, I'd actually been rather flattered. But a few weeks into the job I finally realized that she'd made a huge mistake; I'd never expected to lead, and had never learned to do it properly. On top of that, she'd left me nothing—no proven methods of training, and none of the influence needed to suggest experimenting with new ones. No time to gain respect. Everybody had expected Sayuri to be the one, while half the club hadn't even known my name.

"Ano, ne…" Konami's voice shook me from my bitter thoughts.

"Hm?"

"Why do you think Coach Ryuuzaki is letting us participate?"

I laughed wryly, breathless from running. Konami grimaced. Even her grimace was shy. "Sorry, I just wondered, since we've never really…"

"No, it's all right." I shook my head. "I've been wondering too."

* * *

As usual, practice fizzled down to an end (the boys finished with a flourish—a war cry of "SEIGAKU! FIGHT-O!").

"First years, pick up the balls and take down the nets," I called out habitually, pleased that a few girls stirred themselves after only half a minute's pause. Leaving them to it, I slipped out of the courts and headed towards the water fountains. Passing a cluster of tired male regulars heading in roughly the same direction, I found Tezuka supervising a few jittery freshmen was they gathered up tennis nets. He had his back to me.

"Make sure you grasp the edges, not the netting itself. Yes, Shiori-san?"

Inhaling sharply, I froze.

When he received no reply Tezuka turned to face me squarely. "I trust your club has made its decision?"

"Er…" The truth was that I had only been passing by to get myself a much needed drink and hadn't counted on being cornered. "Yes."

I did so love my pride.

"I see. So who will represent your club, besides yourself?"

"Um…" The gears in my mind whirled into overdrive as I scrambled to whisk out a name on the spot. Precious seconds were wasted giving myself a mental smack on the head for letting personal curiosities and concerns make me forget about my promise to make a decision. I was on the brink of proving his worst suspicions of me as a leader correct, and it was only day one.

"Shiori-san?" Tezuka prompted. It was probably my mind playing tricks, but I thought he sounded just a shade patronizing, like a teacher being tolerant of a rather dim student.

"Yoshizawa Konami."

"Yoshizawa?" Was it just me, or did he sound dubious?

"Yes. I don't expect you know her. She's in the second year, from Momoshiro-san's class," I went on with a self-assuredness I did not feel. I was speeding on a mental highway, clutching the steering wheel desperately and barely keeping myself on the road. "She hasn't been very active in school activities before, but I think she'll he able to help us."

'She is in your club; you would know best," Tezuka allowed. "As for the date, time and place of the meeting, I have talked it over with my team. Are you and Yoshizawa-san available tomorrow during lunch break? My club plans on having busy afternoons."

I nearly forgot myself and scowled. My club's (alleged) practice sessions were as long as his. "I think so, but I'll have to confirm it with her. I'll give you a definite answer tomorrow morning."

"Please do." Having finished with me, he turned back to the Freshmen while I scurried away, breathing out long breaths of relief like I'd barely escaped suffocation.

I had never been so pleased or relieved to see the water fountains deserted. In merciful seclusion I turned loose a gushing stream of icy water from one tap and scooped it up with my unsteady hands, splashing it onto my face before moving on to drinking. Turning the tap off, I remained bent over the long trough, propping myself upright by planting both hands on its edge. I was breathing heavily and weak-kneed as though I'd done a much more strenuous workout than I actually had. Waiting for my pulse to rein itself in, I sighed.

Idiot.

Briefly curling both hands into fists, I raised myself wearily off the trough and walked slowly back towards the courts, rearranging my expression into one of unflustered (if fatigued) neutrality. It was high time I resigned myself to the fact that I would never stop being ridiculously panicky around Tezuka. I could tell myself that we were both sports club captains and on officially equal footing until I was blue in the face, never mind that he led a strong, celebrated team with endless potential whereas I—

Stop.

Here I was claiming awareness of my shortcomings, while all I did was bemoan them and wallow in self-pity. Not only was I incompetent, I also lacked the initiative to change myself, in spite of how dissatisfied I supposedly was with my performance. Did I not have any redeeming qualities at all?

Only a few people were scattered about the courts when I returned. Waving goodbye to the last of the club members, forcing myself to smile for them, I trudged resignedly into the silent courts. They were soothingly peaceful now that everybody had gone. With no one to lead, no one to teach, no one to disobey and make me feel pathetic, I was left alone in the rays of a warm afternoon sun to check for stray balls that the freshmen had overlooked, or simply found too troublesome to retrieve. There was a depressingly large number of these. By the benches sat the baskets where the rest of the balls were; no one had bothered to carry them back into the clubhouse. The same went for the nets—further proof that my orders carried little weight in the club.

Like on any other day, I set about finishing up various chores. Unlike the other second or third years who frequently congratulated each other on being exempt by the virtue of age from doing something so tedious, I didn't mind picking up after my club. I almost enjoyed it, in the sense that it made me feel like I was being of some use. Of course, I would have preferred that my freshmen did their assigned tasks thoroughly like I told them to. But as I had as of yet done nothing to deserve their esteem, I could hardly blame them.

At least the courts were comfortingly tranquil, and a pleasant breeze was playing through the trees…

"You try really hard for your club, don't you?"

Startled, I dropped the three tennis balls I had been holding. Whipping around, I saw to my bewilderment Fuji Syusuke standing behind me where there had only been air just a few seconds ago, or so it felt.

He picked up one of the balls I'd let fall and tossed it into a basket.

"It's all right," I protested instinctively. "I can do it."

He merely smiled wider. "I'd like to help. May I?"

"Sure…if you want."

Although not exactly unhappy to see him, I was nonetheless set on edge by his presence as I wondered what he was doing there. What could have possessed Seigaku's revered tennis tensai to suddenly show up and offer to do freshmen chores with me?

"I thought, since we'll be working together quite a lot after today, we might want to meet each other properly first," he announced cheerfully. He could only have made an educated guess, although his accuracy suggested some form of mind-reading. Or maybe it was just my stiff posture and frequent discreet frowns in his direction that gave me away.

"Oh. So…Tezuka told you, then? About the joint-school tennis activity we're supposed to hold with Hyotei?"

Fuji nodded happily. "I think he wants a larger workforce for this one. He and Oishi can't do everything by themselves—"

I seriously doubted that, but said nothing.

"—and neither can our club, for that matter. Ganbatte, ne, Shiori-san? We're counting on you."

I returned his bright smile halfheartedly. The day Seigaku's tennis teams counted on me for anything was they day they were both doomed to evaporate.

"It's true," Fuji insisted, with the slightest hint of imploring in his voice. Finishing up with the tennis balls, he went on to tidy up some of the less neatly folded nets. His smile grew mischievous and his soft voice lowered into a conspiratorial whisper. "Tezuka isn't that much of a 'people person', as you've noticed—"

I grinned ruefully.

"—so I really have no idea how he thinks he's going to manage a_ social_ event." The smile snapped back to its usual innocent cheer. "Seigaku's depending on you then, Shiori-buchou. Let's work hard together to save Tezuka's skin, ne?"

I couldn't help it; I laughed. The idea of me saving Tezuka in any way was solid fairytale material. It was the stuff of silly daydreams and fan girl crushes, but that didn't stop an image of me skillfully negotiating with a faceless Hyotei representative while he sat beside me looking confused from forming in my mind's eye.

After we had toted the last of my club's equipment back into its clubhouse, Fuji walked me to the school gates and waved goodbye as we parted ways. "See you tomorrow at the meeting, Shiori-san."

"Tomorrow," I agreed, and we exchanged a last smile before leaving.

It wasn't until much later that I realized the prospect of attending a meeting with Tezuka didn't fill me with dread anymore.


	2. Laying Foundations

Ch. 2: _Laying Foundations_

|Persona: FUJI|

The Boys' Team's clubhouse was empty when I stepped inside a few minutes after the lunch bell had gone, carrying a bento and the notes Tezuka had handed me that morning during a meeting which I understood to be in preparation of the meeting we were supposed to have now with the Girls' Team's representatives. Apparently he'd contacted Hyotei's Boys' Team Captain, Atobe Keigo, and scheduled yet another meeting for the coming weekend, and needed to come to an agreement on a few issues with the girls. The coming workload would most likely put a strain on himself and Oishi, given that they still needed to deal with other club commitments, which was why I'd been drafted to help out, or so he said.

I wasn't a big fan of administrative or management tasks. Though admittedly necessary, they were…well, kind of boring most of the time. Tezuka and Oishi were much better at being meticulous and thinking through all the tedious, pertinent details ahead of time, which most likely explained why they were selected to lead the team. The lack of an official position didn't bother me; being tied down with responsibility took the fun out of life.

I had just settled down and unwrapped my bento from its cloth cover when the door swung open. I looked up in the middle of unsheathing a pair of chopsticks. "Tezuka."

"Fuji."

Sitting down beside me on one of the benches lining the edges of the room, he took out his own lunch.

"You know," I said casually. "I'm really looking forwards to the event with Hyotei. What about you?"

"There is enough in the present to be occupied with."

He had no sense of fun whatsoever. "But it's going to be our first time cooperating with the Girls' Club. This should be interesting, ne?"

Tezuka said nothing. His head was bent studiously over his food.

"I think our two clubs will work well together."

Silence.

"I met their captain yesterday after practice."

Silence.

Over two years of puzzling out Tezuka's moods had provided enough insight to clue in on the nature of his silences. The commonest kinds included the stern, 'don't talk to me' silences, the peaceful ones, the contemplative ones, the disapproving ones, and the 'don't make me answer if you don't want to hear something unpleasant' ones. Borrowing Inui's favorite form of expression, there was a ninety percent chance that I accurately guessed which kind today's was. Outside tennis, my cryptic Captain was actually quite predictable.

"She's a good captain. She took the trouble to finish clearing up the courts her clubs used; apparently her freshmen don't do a very thorough job."

At last finding a remark worth his time to address, he gave me a long sideways look that would've been arch if his characteristic stoicism had allowed it. The look clearly said, "And what do you find 'good' about her being permissive towards undisciplined freshmen?"

The topic of Seigaku's Girls' Tennis Club came up twice a year when the Boys' Club needed to borrow one or two of their courts, which mostly only happened during the internal ranking matches. Coach Ryuuzaki usually did the actual negotiating. Otherwise, Tezuka never mentioned them. But I'd have bet all my tennis rackets that Shiori Hane knew to be grateful he wasn't in charge of her club and was in no position to comment on her leadership. Tezuka's realism and high standards made him an effective captain. They also tended to make him severe.

"I'm not saying that it's a good thing for the head of a club to need to clean up everyone else's messes," I assured him, laughing. "But she does try, you know. I get the impression that she looks up to you as a sort of role model. It's just unlucky for her that you're really hard to copy."

"Hn."

"Shiori-san has a lot of respect for you as a captain," I stressed lightly. "I think she'd appreciate more of the same from you." It was the closest I'd ever come to subtly suggesting that maybe there was a chance I disagreed with the way he thought or did things.

This time, there was no grunt.

"Tezuka, she's really not a bad captain."

"You are generous with your compliments."

"No, I'm just saying what I think. Without Coach Ryuuzaki's guidance, not to mention excellent examples in two wonderful captains before her, or much previous leadership experience, I think she's managing a lot better than many other people would have. Besides, the school's policy regarding her club is no secret, but she still does her best to make it successful."

To his credit, Tezuka gave this a moment of consideration. "We are all entitled to making our own judgments," he finally concluded. Which was much more encouraging than "Hn".

I smiled broadly. "I'm sure she'll do everything she can for this project. She's all heart."

* * *

|Persona: SHIORI|

I snatched a pre-packed sandwich from my bag and hurried out the classroom the moment the teacher left. In my other hand I clutched a notebook, and several pens were stuffed into a skirt pocket. Late last night it had dawned upon me that I was hopelessly unprepared for today's meeting. Tezuka had mentioned needing to talk about our own 'terms and needs', but what did those include, exactly? Was I expected to provide certain information on my club, statistics and such? I couldn't think of any that would be of value. It wasn't like we had records of our performance in previous tournaments.

In light of my embarrassing ignorance, the best bet would be to hope that Tezuka at least knew what he was doing, and salvage the situation as much as I could by intelligently imbibing his knowledge of planning joint-school tennis activities. If I could do that, I stood a chance of figuring out enough about what was going on to start being of some use.

Clattering down flights of stairs, I hurried towards the clubhouse used by the Boys' Team. That morning I had informed Konami that she was required to meet me there as a representative of the Girls' Club. She was to help me organize the upcoming event.

"Work with Hyotei? And the _boys' team_?" she'd squeaked in alarm.

Much too late I'd started having misgivings about choosing her for the job, but it wasn't like I thought I'd cooperate better with someone else in the club. I wasn't familiar with either Tori or Natsuko. It had always been Makahi. Besides, I'd given Tezuka Konami's name so could hardly change my decision. So I put my foot down with her. "I think you could do it, if you really tried, ne?"

She smiled weakly.

The corridors were mostly empty as I walked along them in long, confident strides that at least made me look like I wasn't heart-pounding nervous about what I was about to do. Another set of footsteps interrupted mine, but they didn't register until I rounded a corner and nearly ran headlong into someone. Backpedaling sharply to a halt, I apologized and was about to double around the person when I glimpsed her face out of the corner of my eye.

Makahi.

Momentum carried me forwards before I could react. After passing her, my first instinct was to walk on, pretend that I hadn't noticed…

"Hane?"

I knew that voice well, even though its normally bright and confident ring was replaced by uncertainty. Nostalgia reached for me as I turned around and looked into that familiar face, but Makahi reminded me of her guilt when she attempted a smile and it came out watery. I smiled back, and mine was as brittle and cold as I had intended it to be.

Her flimsy smile dipped but was heroically hitched up again. "I heard our…your…the club is going to do something with the boys' team and Hyotei."

"It is."

"That's great!" Amazingly, she sounded genuinely enthusiastic. "Why didn't you say something? We could practice for…it…together…" The smile disappeared once and for all. She must have caught sight of my face.

"I did say something," I said, my voice threatening to shake. "To someone from _my_ club. I didn't think it was necessary to tell_ you_, since you're not in it anymore."

"Hane—" She sighed agitatedly, raking a hand through her hair. "I already told you. I was…jealous. I wasn't thinking straight. If I'd thought it through, I definitely wouldn't have done it. Can we please stop, you know, fighting like this? I mean, I'm beginning to think that I want to come back—"

"Believe me, you _really_ don't need to do that," I assured her.

Pausing in her fidgeting, Makahi frowned. I caught a flash of the girl I'd known in our second year. "I'd like to make it up to you," she alleged, but the pleading whine in her tone faded. "But not by letting you kick me around. So don't."

"You were talking about enrolling back into the club. And I happen to be captain there," I pointed out. My voice was harder than I wanted it to be, and every antagonistic word stung my throat as it came out. Yet I blundered ahead into the impending conflict, because although it would hurt me, I knew it would hurt her too.

Makahi's mouth firmed into a mulish line. "I can't believe what's happened to your head," she declared with some disgust. "Well listen up, _Buchou_. You're only captain because Yamazawa suspected Sayuri and I wanted to leave, while you were going to stay put because, come on, would any other tennis club have taken someone like you? So don't go thinking you're really that great."

A burst of rage screamed out inside, and suddenly I felt no qualms about being in this argument. It was true that everybody had expected one of them to be the next captain—including me. It was also true that they were stronger players and honestly deserved the position more. But Captain Yamazawa had chosen _me_. Makahi and Sayuri were the ones at fault for denying that there might be sound reasons behind that decision, for assuming from the start that there had been a horrible mistake and that I was hopelessly incapable. Sayuri I could more easily forgive; we hadn't been close in the first place. But Makahi had been my best friend. My best friend had turned on me because she thought it beneath her to be my vice-captain.

At this moment, I saw Konami practically running down the flight of stairs I'd taken a few minutes ago. "Yamazawa didn't rule you out because she thought you'd leave," I tossed out wildly. She didn't because she knew what a traitor you'd be!" All but shouting the last three words, I whirled around and charged off towards the exit before she could have the last word.

My breathing was labored and my chest hurt. I badly wanted to cry, but heard my name being called just as my mouth twisted in anticipation, and with massive effort forced the impulse down. Konami trotted up beside me, slightly breathless. "I'm sorry," she said at once. "My teacher held me up, and…"

I nodded wordlessly.

She watched me with a concerned frown, and after glancing over her shoulder, asked quietly, "Was that Yamane-san?"

"She used to be our vice-captain, don't you recognize her?" I demanded harshly.

Konami visibly shrank away. In my anger, her fear only annoyed me and apologizing was the last thing on my mind. Besides, the sour, contorted pain in my chest was growing and it overrode everything else. I hated Makahi. The final insult I'd thrown at her had been nothing more than a blind, desperate attempt to injure, but now I realized I'd stumbled upon the truth: she _had_ been a traitor. She had betrayed our friendship for her pride, abandoned me to my fate when she knew I needed her help…

When the boys' clubhouse appeared before me I went straight for it, too preoccupied to feel nervous. The door was slightly ajar as Konami and I approached, and male voices sounded from within, but all I could clearly remember of whatever conversation the boys were having was Tezuka's deep rumble just before I went inside: "Heart isn't everything."

* * *

|Persona: FUJI|

As I had hoped, Shiori didn't seem as intimidated by Tezuka as before. In fact, she was strangely impatient with him, and with me, greeting us with a clipped smile before briskly sitting down on the bench opposite ours. A smaller girl, most likely Yoshizawa Konami from the second year whom Tezuka had told me would attend, bowed before hurrying to follow her captain. She looked terrified, for some reason, and glanced frequently at Shiori. Following her line of sight, I noticed the sandwich in Shiori's hand. Its thin casing was crumpled. Something had happened.

If Tezuka saw this, he disregarded it as unimportant. After Oishi burst into the room, shouting apologies, he took two sheets of paper out from a clear file and handed them to Shiori, who passed one to Yoshizawa. "These are the issues on which it would be best if both clubs could come to a consensus before further discussion with Hyotei. Do either of you wish to add anything?"

Shiori was having trouble concentrating. She struggled to read the document properly. Yoshizawa, however, was already staring at it with growing surprise and apprehension. I looked down at an identically printed sheet of paper on my lap. Who knew the preliminary planning of a simple joint-school tennis event would need a foot-long list of items for consideration?

"No, not that I can think of. I suppose we should start with dates?" Shiori looked up and said crisply, interestingly undaunted. Perhaps it hadn't sunk in yet. Or maybe she was more adept at these things than Tezuka or anyone else gave her credit for.

"That would be acceptable," Tezuka said. "I propose the event be held during a weekend; it would allow an entire day's time for longer activities."

"I agree," Shiori replied without missing a beat. "Saturday would be better. A lot of people save Sundays for their families." As she said this, she looked Tezuka squarely in the eye with an unwavering gaze that even some of my team couldn't manage at times, even with the advantage of having had plenty of chances to get used to him. I was beginning to think I might not have needed to worry.

Tezuka nodded once. "That seems reasonable. Coach Ryuuzaki has already stipulated that it be held in around one month's time. As such—" he brought out a calendar from his clear folder "—there are two possible weekends that suit our purposes."

Leaning forwards for a better view, Shiori immediately said, "The later one would suit my club better. It'll need more time to prepare." She vibrated with an energy that bordered on aggressiveness.

And thus the meeting progressed with the two captains going through the list of issues at breakneck speed, and the rest of us scribbling notes or assuring them that, no, we had no objections to whatever it was they were suggesting. Evidently, whatever had boosted Shiori's confidence was quite potent; she expressed her opinions without faltering ("Well if Hyotei has more courts then we should probably have it there. I'm sure they'll agree; they're using this for publicity, aren't they? And providing the venue would make them look generous."), even going so far as to argue with Tezuka on some occasions ("No, I would honestly prefer that all club members be allowed to participate in some way. The school hasn't let my club do _anything_ as of yet and Kami knows the members need something to prove that they aren't wasting their time.").

By the time afternoon lessons were due to begin we had actually gone through Tezuka's entire list—an impressive feat considering how frightfully long it was. Near the end of it, Shiori calmed down and resembled more the girl who bit her lip when she thought no one was watching after exchanges with Tezuka. It was plain to me then that her sudden boldness had been brought on by whatever had upset her prior to the meeting. Taking into account the mangled sandwich case, I hypothesized that she had been very angry. Curiously, this made it possible for her to hold her own with Tezuka, displaying an efficiency that I suspected was way beyond his initial estimation. Interesting. Now I had a good idea what I could do should she have an especially bad relapse of Tezuka-jitters. If I could only come up with some good ways to make her really, really mad…

Still, I did wonder what had happened to her in the first place.

* * *

|Persona: SHIORI|

Konami was extremely relieved when I thanked her pleasantly for taking notes during the meeting, and thankfully didn't bring up my earlier loss of temper. Even so, I did my best to be extra friendly, asking for her opinion on some of the things that had been agreed on during the meeting (I was surprised to find that we'd agreed on so much) and suggesting that we meet up before the meeting at Hyotei. The meeting was scheduled for the coming Saturday afternoon. Before we'd left the clubhouse, Oishi had been very careful to point out the date printed in bold letters at the bottom of the page: "We're really sorry that we couldn't have decided on the day together, but it was finalized with Hyotei last Tuesday and we'd really rather not inconvenience Hyotei by changing it again. I hope you understand, and please try to make it…" I'd had to head him off and reassure him that Konami and I didn't mind in the least, no, honestly, we really didn't.

"Can I borrow your notes for tonight?" I asked Konami when she reached her floor in the school building. "I didn't copy down much and I think I'll need to go over this stuff before talking with Hyotei."

She handed the notes over and we went our separate ways for class. Truthfully, I wasn't in the mood for math. The page of exercises blurred before my eyes as my attention drifted out the classroom. At some point which I could hardly remember, Tezuka and I had apparently decided that friendly matches between the girls' and boys' teams of both schools were of course necessary, and that mixed matches were optional depending on what Hyotei wanted. The idea had supposedly sounded good to me at the time (my murky memory suggested that I had been the one to suggest this) but now I began to have second thoughts.

My club didn't have a team. Since we'd never been in an external tournament, choosing members to be 'regulars' was functionally redundant. Yamazawa had tried to produce some anyway, so she, Tori, Natsuko, Sayuri, Makahi and I ended up wearing official 'team' uniforms to school practice sessions. Seeing as we couldn't even manage to cobble together enough people to form a full team, this didn't help us much. With our old captain and two 'regulars' gone, I doubted we would be able to pull it off even if the school suddenly decided to let us compete in something.

So who exactly were we sending out to play Hyotei?

I winced in the midst of pretending to compute the solution to a complicated math problem. Why hadn't I thought of this during the meeting? Just then, I heard my name being called. The teacher had selected a few of us to put our answers up on the board. Mercifully, I was assigned one of the few I'd actually done.

Math wasn't my best subject. If I was sufficiently cautious, though, I could for the most part puzzle out the answer, although my solutions were often workmanlike and inelegant. As for this particular question, I was fairly confident about having gotten it more or less right; it involved the application of a formula we'd just learned and was rather straightforward. I put down my chalk about the same time as the others at the board did and turned to go back to my seat.

"Thank you, and you are all correct," the teacher announced to my pleasure. "Now, if you'll take a look at Shiori's work, you'll see that she's utilized the theorem we learned today very cleverly—"

I couldn't suppress the triumphant smile that made my lips twitch.

"—with this method she's avoided the tedious—yes, Tezuka?" Sensei raised a brow at him. He'd just stood up. I was struck by a sudden sense of foreboding.

"That answer is incorrect," Tezuka declared tonelessly. "The theorem was not properly utilized because the equation does not satisfy all of the theorem's conditions. Furthermore, this method neglects many crucial procedures that are coincidentally insignificant in this problem, but are essential in most others of the same type." He then sat back down.

There was an awkward pause. Sensei frowned at the board. I stood frozen between two rows of desks, torn between going back to correct my work (not that I had any idea how to do this) and sneaking back to my seat. Standing up in a room of seated classmates made me feel awfully self-conscious, as though half the class was staring at me in silent condemnation for having made such a stupid error. Senses heightened, my skin tingled nastily.

"Are you sure, Tezuka? Saa, I think I made all those mistakes too." Instantly, the spotlight snapped onto a smiling brunet sitting next to Tezuka. Relief washed over me. After a moment of dismay, Fuji brightened and turned pleasantly towards the teacher. "Sensei, could you please explain the conditions of the theorem again? I'm not sure I understand."

"That seems to be necessary. Thank you, Fuji. Now, class…"

Everybody seemed to have forgotten all about me, and I scuttled back to my seat as fast as I could, grabbing a pen and concentrating on my textbook with undue intensity—anything would be better than dwelling on my embarrassment. Tezuka had looked so stern when he'd pointed out my mistake. I was sure his opinion of me had been lowered. Undoubtedly be thought me careless, maybe even dim. My mind jumped back to our meeting during lunch and I blanched. I hadn't thought things through, I'd answered everything so quickly that very little of it had actually been processed in my brain first, and I must have sounded so stupid, about the friendly matches and a whole lot else…

I glanced up at Tezuka. From where I was sitting I could see part of his profile. Didn't he look more disapproving than usual? I felt myself quailing.

Then it hit me that Sensei was halfway through repeating the theorem I'd just misapplied and I had yet to take in a single word. A peek at Tezuka confirmed that he was listening intently. The urge to scream or cry reared up inside and being constrained to curling a fist around my pen was torture. What was wrong with me? He was more competent than me in everything, yet he was also the one who made an effort to keep up his performance and didn't let his guard down. Why was I so unbearably complacent? A sharp pang of shame shot up in my chest. These had gotten more frequent as of late. I was discovering more and more aspects in which I was inferior.

I left school after that afternoon's tennis practice before anyone could hold me up, not bothering to clean up after the club. A few tennis balls left outside overnight couldn't kill anyone. In a quick walk that strained my legs I rushed to the nearest public tennis courts. Tennis always made me feel better. An hour or so of slamming a ball against something fixed everything.

Dropping my bag on a bench at the sidelines, I yanked out my racket and slipped a few yellow balls into my pocket. Needing to supervise training at school meant there was relatively little time for me to play myself, but at least all the racket swinging I had to do for the freshmen's instruction added up to an effective warm-up session. I made my way towards the nearest practice wall.

The first serve felt like an extraction of poison. The explosive slice of the racket conducted my muscles as they contracted, and the sting in my chest bled out of me. Vigorous motion was therapeutic; it exhausted me and gave me the impression that I was working hard at _something_, that I was being productive and making headway into purging myself of the weaknesses that people looked down on me for. It was punishment for the day's mistakes. But at the same time, it was tennis, the sport I loved. Having gotten into the rhythm of swing-and-hit as the wall reflected systematically reflected my ball back towards me, I took out another ball and let it loose between swipes. It was a fancy-looking little trick Makahi and I had casually witnessed somewhere and worshipped ever since. The player used alternate forehand and backhand swings to keep both balls moving.

The metallic frame of my racket glinted in the late afternoon sunlight each time it arched through the air, and blood coursed through every part of me like a stream of golden power. One of the reasons why I adored this sport was because it made me feel beautiful somehow, and made me admire the fluidity of my limbs as they coordinated to execute strokes that curved like darting swallows but made impact with all the strength of thunder. I had never told anyone this.

Regretfully, my body had its limits, and adrenaline eventually gave way to fatigue that weighted down every movement. I caught the balls while my hands and arms were still able to do so deftly, and stood panting.

In the silence, I became very aware of being alone in the court.

Perhaps it was because I had met her that day that memories of Makahi leaked into my consciousness. I used to play tennis with her here. We'd scarred the practice walls in our attempts to perfect that duo-ball technique. This used to be our hideout. Our court. After we'd fallen out, she hadn't returned.

Our earlier confrontation came back to me in a rush and the terrible sinking feeling of having failed something nearly made my legs crumple under me. I sat down shakily on the bench beside my bag.

I had said so many horrible things to her, and now I couldn't understand why I'd said them. Sure, I'd felt betrayed and angry, but why couldn't I have held those feelings in and kept my tongue civil? Surely a fractured pride was worth it if it meant I could have my best friend back? I had almost lost sight of my rage towards her, and on most days felt quite ready to put the past behind me. Still, every time we met each other face to face, the old grudge would resurface and always I'd say something that I didn't really mean and regretted afterwards.

She'd even offered to play tennis with me, hadn't she? If only I'd said, "Yeah, that would be great; meet you at our court later today?" If only I'd controlled myself better. Then at this very moment I would be in a heated rally with her, and everything would be all right between us.

It occurred to me that I had no idea how Makahi had found out about the activity with Hyotei. I hadn't announced it to my club, thinking to do that after some of the important details like the date had been finalized, and I certainly didn't remember mentioning it to anybody besides Konami. But I was lost in my misery, conjuring alternatives to this afternoon, happier ones than sitting alone on a bench, exhausted. She was in Fuji's class, maybe he'd said something which she just happened to hear.

A cool breeze fluttered my sweaty shirt and made me shiver. Getting to my feet with effort, I hitched my bag on my shoulder, slipped my racket back into its sheath and trudged towards the court's exit. This was no more than a parting in the high bushes that surrounded the court. As I passed through the narrow gap my heart jolted suddenly. Someone was standing on the other side of the bushes.

This person gave a frightened 'eep', testifying that I'd startled her as much as she had me. She was a younger girl, and wore the Seigaku uniform. One of my kouhais, apparently. I remembered seeing her around Coach Ryuuzaki a few times—she was the coach's granddaughter, if I remembered correctly. Ryuuzaki Sakuno, or something of the like. Large, round eyes met mine fleetingly before she swooped down in a low bow. "I'm sorry! I didn't mean to bother you—I shouldn't have—"

"It's all right, no harm done," I said hurriedly. People like Konami and Oishi had drilled into me the instinct to nip excessive apologies in the bud before they escalated into full self-deprecating rants.

Sakuno straightened—barely. Her hands, clasped in front of her, wrung themselves. She looked like she wanted to say something. I waited her out.

"I just saw—I wasn't spying on you, senpai!—But I saw how you were hitting two balls at once, and…"

Amazingly, I somehow found it in me to smile. "Oh, that. It's cool, isn't it? My friend and I practiced for a long time to get it right."

"Hai!"

"Do you like tennis?" I inquired. She wasn't in my club.

"Hai!" she repeated, nodding eagerly. From a bag I hadn't noticed she drew out a peculiar contraption. It involved a tennis ball attached to a piece of stretchy string, which connected at the other end to a heavy-looking block of some sort. "I've tried playing a little with this…but I'm not very good yet." This saddened her somewhat and she looked down at her feet. Amused, I quirked a smile. She was a textbook-perfect kouhai, so eager, so earnest, so expressive.

"Would you like to play some tennis, Sakuno-chan? Now?"

Her whole small body jerked in surprise, either at my offer or the fact that I knew her name. Dithering, her eyes drifted towards the court before snapping back to me. "Would it really be all right?" she asked, plainly hoping that it was but feeling obliged to ask out of politeness.

"Of course it is." I was physically exhausted and dragging my emotional feet. And I was offering to play tennis with a freshman I hardly knew on a sudden whim.

"Arigatou, senpai!" Sakuno beamed happily. She really was adorable.

For some inexplicable reason, I felt much older watching her trot over to the benches and carefully putting down her things. Maybe it was because I stood over a foot taller than her. When either of us spoke, she had to tilt her head up to look at me, and from my perspective she looked so very_ young_. It was hard to bear in mind that she was only two years my junior.

Being unsure exactly what level she was at, I readied myself on one side of the court and waited to see what she would do. As expected of the granddaughter of a tennis coach, she positioned herself correctly on the court and meticulously arranged each finger around her racket into a perfect grip. Settling self-consciously into a ready stance, she looked expectantly at me.

"It would be better if you bent your knees more and leaned forwards," I advised before I could remember that she wasn't one of the many freshmen I trained in my club.

She adjusted herself accordingly. "Like this?"

"Yes." Taking a ball out of my pocket, I did a light underhand serve.

Sakuno rushed towards it at once. I grimaced; clearly nobody had taught her any court footwork. She ran in the exact same way as I did when doing laps, arms swinging without paying any attention to her racket. Bringing the racket up at an odd angle, she hit the ball with the netting's periphery which sent it lopping high over the net. It landed just after passing the net and might have been an effective strategic move if it hadn't been so slow. I nudged it back to her side, close to where she stood. Amazingly, returning a mishit ball was even harder than a well-hit one. Probably, I just wasn't used to it; everyone who'd ever played with me had been on a much higher level than I…

I imagined myself as my brother, gazing fondly at a much younger, much shorter child who stumbled and tripped around the court, clumsily swinging at the ball, face lighting up in elation whenever the racket made any kind of contact. By the time he'd started teaching me, he was experienced enough to be able to moderate the strength and speed of his hits and send the ball accurately to where I would find it most easy to intercept. Now I was doing the same as he had. I felt as though it placed me in the same category as him, somehow, an unnamed society of players good enough to teach the sport.

Sakuno turned out to be satisfying observant, if a little uncoordinated at the limbs. She quickly attempted to copy my posture, exaggeratedly standard, and began holding her racket more or less steadily in front of her chest when she navigated the court. My swings were deliberately slow, and swept in wide arcs to indicate direction. These she tried to duplicate as well. The main reason why she couldn't seemed to be because her wrist wasn't locked correctly.

"Sakuno-chan," I motioned for her to come towards the middle of the court. Taking her racket hand I adjusted the joint and held it firmly in place for a second or two before releasing it. "Keep it like that," I instructed. "You'll be able to control your racket better."

"Arigatou, senpai!" she exclaimed, a good deal more delighted than I thought was strictly proportional to the situation. I wondered if she'd had any one-on-one instruction before. She should have every opportunity, being the granddaughter of a former professional and rather well-known coach. But then, I reflected, you'd expect any tennis club in a school like Seigaku to be treated well, too.

We stayed at the court until early evening, upon which Sakuno regretfully said that she had to go home as she was expected back for dinner, and we exited the court together.

"Arigatou, ne, Sakura-chan," I said as we walked.

Her head jerked upward. "What for?"

"I had fun today." Playing with her had induced a type of peace, a certain satisfaction with the present, and if not that, at least a lack of overt _dis_satisfaction. Perhaps it was because sort-of training her made me feel that I was at least making progress in teaching _someone_ tennis, even if it wasn't anybody from my club, and failing less at my job. Perhaps it was because I really had enjoyed myself.

"Me too, senpai."

There is something magical about having a kouhai look up to you. Whatever admiration they give is always sincere and touches that special spot in your heart which convinces you that you do in fact have qualities worth being admired for. They haven't seen as much of the world or witnessed much else greater than you. In their eyes, your talents don't pale in comparison, and so are still recognized for their value. As a freshman, I'd thought many of the upperclassmen were wonderful, and was puzzled at why they seemed to take themselves, and each other, for granted.

"Senpai, you're captain of the Girls' Tennis Team, right?"

"Yes," I confirmed, and for once did not need to suppress a flinch.


End file.
